


Irresistible Song

by Adventine



Series: The Adventures of Birdbrain and Fishboy [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, But not for sex, Guess which robin I am stuffing, Hehehe that was bad, Lots of Food, M/M, Robin mating rituals, Robins only court when they are full
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 12:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16640237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventine/pseuds/Adventine
Summary: The one where Dick makes like a robin and courts—err, bribes Jay back into his life with food and the twitter of conversation, while Jason swims in circles around the “problem” like the oblivious fish that he is.





	Irresistible Song

**Author's Note:**

> This is the one song everyone  
> would like to learn: the song  
> that is irresistible:  
> — Margaret Atwood, Siren Song
> 
> “If a robin has a full belly, it can then work on getting a mate.” 
> 
> That quote and some interesting science on the mating habits of robins can be found here: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2003/jan/30/research.science
> 
> A/N: No plot, only fetish. Completely brainless piece full of fluff and smut. You don’t have to read a AWODD to understand this, only keep in mind that this is an AU where Jason used to be a merman.

**Irresistible Song**

 

_You were never interested in me before._

 

Jason’s not going to apologise for being cynical about whatever it is that’s going on between him and Dick, but it seems to have triggered some kind of insanity in the bird boy, because in the days following their reconciliation, _Dick just won’t leave him alone_. If his stalking routine before was at least trying for some subtlety, now it was blatant and without regard for any kind of audience it might have. Nightwing shows up and makes a nuisance of himself during the Red Hood’s patrol, while Dick Grayson stops by Jason Todd’s apartment and charms his landlady with tiny gifts and those puppy dog eyes he’s weaponised for random social interactions.

For reasons Jason has yet to articulate to himself, the thought aggravates like an itch he can’t quite reach.

 

“I know we’re not actively trying to kill each other anymore Dickiebird, but this is ridiculous even for you.”

 

Dick tilts his head, like a seagull appraising a particular tricky meal. “Really?”

 

Jason makes a complicated hand gesture.

 

“You don’t have to bring food every time you visit. Jesus, you don’t even have to visit every day,” Jason says, while stuffing himself full of the takeout Dick had brought with him (Vietnamese, bahn mi, fresh spring rolls, and some steaming hot pho), because _you don’t waste food ever_ , not even if it’s from an estranged friend? former rival? surprise accomplice? trying to bribe his way back into your life.

 

“Yeah, but I want to. Remember those days when you didn’t know what bacon tasted like?”

 

Jason does. He remembers how he used to gorge on Dick’s gifts constantly, filling himself up like some kind of starving creature who would lose all control when faced with a meal meant just for him. In his less forgiving moments, he likes to think his fixation with this particular Bat has something to do with those first few interactions, the way he had been tamed like a pet simply because someone had given him something to eat and a little affection.

 

 _No_. Jason crushes the thought before it pulls him into a tailspin of self-pity. Enough of that, and not now.

 

“That was a long time ago, D. I can feed myself now.”

 

Dick looks at Jason’s face, then the bahn mi he’s in the middle of devouring, and smiles disarmingly.

 

“Of course you can, Little Fin.”

 

* * *

 

In spite of his protests, in spite of his constant rationalizations regarding why a relationship with Dick is bound to end in disaster (even though he can admit that a part of him desperately wants it), his feelings have a way of sabotaging his best laid plans, and Jason wakes up one morning caught up in the last vestiges of a sex dream.

 

 _More_ , dream-Dick had whispered to him, all hot heat and slick flesh sliding against his, holding dream-Jason down as he gasped for air, pinned and strung out like an animal caught in the jaws of a deadly predator. _More,_ Dick repeated, as his teeth grazed the juncture where his neck met his shoulder, and he had burned when he had felt it, burned so much in that fantasy that he writhed like a creature torn from the sea and flung into the sun. The memory of phantom hands, flowing kisses, his body twisting in time with the turns of another, the ridges of another body pressing into his, hard flesh sinking slowly into the softest, slickest parts of him, inevitable and immovable as time, and then his own groans in response, his own demands for _more, ah, please, I can’t_ —

 

He jolts awake. His cock, which he’d never paid much attention to after his resurrection, lies limp against his thigh, spent and tingling with aftershocks of pleasure.

 

“Shit,” he whispers to himself, because this is undoubtedly going to cause trouble. It didn’t take a genius to spot that coming from a thousand miles away. Things between him and Dick are complicated enough without him adding—whatever this was—to the mix.

 

 _Your emotions have always been your greatest weakness,_ Talia used to always chide him. _You would do well to clear your mind and take control of them, before things get out of hand._

 

And Talia, no matter her faults, had always been inordinately successful in achieving everything she set her mind to. There’s something to be said about the kind of robotic calm all the Al Ghuls trained into themselves, which he’d once tried to emulate but never with much success. Maybe he should start trying it again? Lord knows he can use some calm, natural or otherwise.

 

Steeling himself against the discomfort of cleaning up, he stands and makes his way to the bathroom, determination building with every step.

 

He’d promised himself he would do better in this new, miraculous second life. He isn’t going to let his wayward libido and some newfound feelings get in the way of his best laid plans.

 

* * *

 

Things very much get in the way of his best laid plans, and with an added vengeance. At this point, Jason shouldn’t even be surprised, but he’s still so damned frustrated he could punch a Bat.

 

One Bat, specifically.

 

“How are you doing, Little Fin?” Nightwing calls merrily from above him, and Jason has to stop himself from shooting the stupid fucker down because _he is on a stake out._

 

Thankfully, his hiding place is far enough from his targets that they haven’t noticed a thing, so he contents himself with throwing a pissed-off glare before settling back down to return to his scope.

 

“Little bit busy here, N,” he grits out, but that’s before the smell hits him and _oh fucknuggets_.

 

Dick had brought with him a bag of Big Belly Burgers.

 

And it wasn’t even just the regular cheeseburgers either, judging by the packaging. It was the new special deluxe line, the ones where the meat was grilled just right and looked ready to burst out of the bun, hot, thick, and salty and just _perfect in his mouth_ , covered in melted cheese that dripped down the sides and vegetables crisp and cool like spring rain.

 

Jason knows his mouth doesn’t make a sound (his teeth are clenched together something fierce), but his stomach makes a long, unmistakable gurgle of desperate want in the face of Dick’s gastronomical assault.

 

 _This is so fucking unfair_.

 

“Missed dinner?” Dick asks innocently as he sits beside him, trying to hide a smile (and failing), as if it isn’t obvious that Jason has been subsisting on granola bars and coffee the last five hours.

 

“You think?” he retorts hotly, pissed at his body’s treachery and trying to ignore Dick as he reaches into the bag and starts laying its contents in a row between them. One, two, three, four, five, _six_ burgers come out, complete with some piping hot fries and two large bottles of soda. When the apple pie is revealed (what the actual _Jesus Christ fuck_ ) Jason tamps down on the urge to break the nearest thing he can get his hands on.

 

“I bought some for you, if you want to have snack while waiting?”

 

Jason pauses his murderous thoughts, suspicious as Dick raises one of the burgers and holds it out to him. Delicious though the burgers might be, Jason has _some dignity_. He’s not starving, he doesn’t _need_ to eat right this second—

 

His stomach, sensing the denial Jason is trying to formulate, cuts him off with an angry gurgle even louder than the first.

 

Dick is gracious enough not to react to it.

 

“ _Fine._ ”

 

Even as his eyes flutter close between the first mouthful and the next, the heat and the salt and the tang filling him up with warmth and oft-missed satisfaction he’s never had a lot of in his life, Jason contemplates his relationship with food and temptation. Two years being dead apparently doesn’t erase fifteen years of being trained to eat when given a chance, and Dick seems to have caught on to the fact that Jason is always _ravenous_ , even with a consistent meal schedule and 24/7 access to take-out and food delivery.

 

Maybe, Jason thinks as he swallows with audible effort around a mouthful, if he fed himself more, then Dick couldn’t use his hunger against him? If he’s too full to feel hunger, then there wouldn’t be space for Dick and his brand of temptation, right?

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Jason dreams he is licking honey off of Nightwing’s fingers, tongue tracing the blue on the finger stripes and chasing the flavour along the curves of muscle and ridges of bone.

 

His angry showers proceed apace, but this time, he starts cataloguing all the ingredients he needs for all the recipes he’s been itching to try.

 

“That must be some party you’re throwing,” the man at the checkout counter observes as he scans the packed cuts of salmon, pork, and beef in Jason’s grocery cart the next time he goes supplies shopping.

 

He just shrugs in reply.

 

“The body wants what it wants.”

 

“Aye, I’ll drink to that,”

 

* * *

 

Cooking is . . . interesting, to say the least. There isn’t quite anything like it in the ocean, and its not better or worse way to eat; it’s just different. Before, he used to judge food by its freshness and the singularity of its flavour. Fresh kills were always sweet and juicy, while unique kills introduced flavour to an otherwise standard palate. But with cooking, the possibilities were endless. Now there’s different meats, spices, marinades, and grilling techniques, and no wonder humans don’t hunt anymore. If they had to do that and cook each and every single day, they’d never get anything done.

 

In the beginning he was just curious, but over the years, he’s picked up a few things here and there. Tonight, he’s decided to try his hand again at cooking stuff from scratch again. Based on the smell of his kitchen, it’s working out pretty well. He’s a little proud of himself, and if he’s smiling a bit, no one’s here to call him out and make a fuss over it.

 

There’s a pot of mushroom soup simmering merrily beside a plate of roasted beef and vegetables, and he’s in the process of spooning his mashed potatoes onto his plate when his doorbell rings and the familiar whistling of a particular bird boy filters through his door. Ignoring him never works (he broke through the window the one time Jason decided to pretend he was out) so he grinds his teeth and wipes his hands on his apron.

 

Of course, Dick lights up like he’s surprised Jason answered.

 

“Jay! You’re landlady said you were home! I was just passing through when—”

 

Sniff.

 

Jason huffs impatiently, and crosses his arms.

 

“What do you want, Dick?”

 

Dick’s nose is turned up in the air like a dog’s, and Jason’s about to shut the door in his face when a package gets shoved into his arms and Dick dives into his living room looking for something.

 

“What the hell?” he mumbles, but his intruder is too busy making a beeline for the kitchen to answer him, nose leading the way.

 

“You know how to cook and you _never told me_?”

 

Jason shrugs while looking into the bag in his arms (a slice of strawberry shortcake, some cereal, and a box of Twinkies, what the helleven is this).

 

“Never came up. What’s the big deal?”

 

The deal, apparently, is that Dick is tired of takeout, no matter how good the places he finds are, and he’s started making strange faces at the beef, half of them in constipated betrayal over Jason’s silence, the other in absolutely pathetic longing. It’s obvious he’s trying to think of a way to be invited over to dinner, but then a strange look overtakes him, completely washing away any excitement he previously had.

 

“If you’ve got a date, I can always come back some other time . . .”

 

A _date_?

 

“Really?” His voice reaches a pitch he didn’t think was quite possible for him. “ _Really_? Now you think to be considerate? After you keep on barging into my apartment at the slightest bit of notice?”

 

Dick hunches up even further, ears in line with his shoulders, and Jason would punch him if his hands weren’t so full of things, things that Dick had given him.

 

How is one supposed to function with a Dick Grayson in their life? Did people just roll over once they realised resistance to Dick’s irritating brand of charm is futile? Did logic just fly out the window whenever the other man entered the room? Or is it a slow slide into madness, gradual as the turning of the earth? Jason’s not quite sure, but he’s self-aware enough to know he’s not immune to whatever charismatic devilry Dick seems to possess.

 

Jason doesn’t _do_ doubt, doesn’t _do_ dinners, and he especially doesn’t do _domestic_ , but the mere fact that he’s found himself in this situation, with all three elements present in one way or another, might be proof that he’s already neck-deep in a hypothetical Grayson Event Horizon.

 

Instead of following that damning train of thought, he decides to focus on his present predicament.

 

“Go set the table and make yourself less of a nuisance. I made too much anyway, and there’s no point letting it go to waste.”

 

(It’s a lie. Jason measured the portions within a gram of their lives, but for some reason, _reasons he’s also not thinking about_ , he’s reluctant to turn Dick away).

 

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Dick practically bounces on his toes to do as he is told in another lighting-quick change of mood, and Jason’s consequent frown is not the slightest bit an effort to repress his burgeoning endearment.

 

Absolutely _not in the slightest._

 

* * *

 

 _Open up, Little Fin_ , dream-Dick says, and dream-Jason obeys, moaning as he bites into the tastiest fruit while Dick slides into him, sweetly hard and wondrously deep in a slow, inexorable glide of flesh and desire. His legs are spread open in the dirtiest way, and if anyone else saw him they’d see everything, all his want on display like some kind of animal in heat, his rim tightly flush against the contours of Dick’s erection, _taking it so well baby just like that, eat it all up come on, just a little bit more_ —

 

Dream-Dick bottoms out in one continuous and glorious thrust, and it hurtles Jason into the morning and into a violent explosion all over his sheets. He can feel his shame burning his cheeks, mixed with the glow of physical satisfaction, chest heaving and mouth open in exertion.

 

Later that day, his landlady hands him his water bill and tells him to go easy on the showering. She also asks if he has any leftovers of whatever it was he was cooking last night, because it smelled divine.

 

He has none. Dick had asked for all of his leftovers.

 

* * *

 

When everything finally, finally, comes to a head, it’s over a couple of chilli dogs. Nightwing just took down a couple of gang lords in one fell swoop, and Jason had managed to route a few of their stock in the ensuing chaos that followed. It was a good night, and so there they both were, eating some of Gotham’s finest street food, when Dick decides to shatter Jason’s calm, as usual, by leaning forward to lick a bit of ketchup from the corner of Jason’s mouth.

 

The punch hits Dick square in the gut, and he crumples like a wet paper bag. He really should have seen that coming.

 

“Motherfucker,” Jason says, in a burst of high-speed comprehension, the last few months weaving together in an undeniable pattern. “You’ve been playing me all along, haven’t you?”

 

“If by playing, you mean I’ve been trying to find a chance to kiss you without getting beaten up, then yes, you have uncovered my nefarious plot.”

 

He takes a few moments to process the admission.

 

“Couldn’t you have said something clearer? I thought I was going crazy for a while.”

 

Dick stares at him, eyes wide and unblinking, and voice as even as the sea.

 

“Little Fin. I asked you to give me a chance. And then I started bringing you all your favorite food. And then your somewhat-favorite food. And each time you kept eating and missing the point entirely.” He pauses for a bit. “I thought you were being dense on purpose, or using me as your personal takeout boy.”

 

Jason swallows the last bit of bread in his hand, and makes to stand up. In retrospect, this whole thing does seem a little obvious. He’s not usually this stupid, but Dick has always been able to turn his world upside-down.

 

Figures.

 

He offers his hand to pull Dick up, and because he’s not entirely slow on the uptake, kisses him full on the mouth, hard and full of intent. Let it never be said that Jason was not a man of action.

 

“Ready to finally get this show on the road?”

 

Nightwing’s smile is sweet and bright as he replies.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

* * *

 

Jason wants to put it on record that Nightwing’s smile is a lie. The rest of the night is anything but sweet. It’s filthy, raunchy, animalistic sex, on walls, floors, over tables, across windows, on any surface they manage to balance themselves on. Particularly memorable is when Dick holds him down and slowly fucks him open until his thighs are shaking with inescapable pleasure, and he retaliates by blowing Dick until he cums dry. It’s everything he’s dreamt of and more, because Dick is as hungry as he is for this, and together, they are savage.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I am trash.


End file.
